


watch me (just watch me)

by coricomile



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: There's violence in Matt's body, etched deep into his muscles, threaded into his entire being. He laughs often and lets Mitch spoon him in public and tenderly hugs children that want his autograph, but he also hasn't pulled a single check in practice, even against the new guys. His hands shake sometimes on the bench, the motion sharp enough that Mitch can see the twitching even with his gloves on. Mitch would think it was nerves if it weren't for the way Matt always goes sharp as glass after a good hit.





	watch me (just watch me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alotofthingsdifferent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/gifts).



> Hi, hello! Alotofthingsdifferent asked for many great things, but _Matt spanking Mitch until he cries_ was right in my wheelhouse, so here it is! Hope you enjoy!

There's violence in Matt's body, etched deep into his muscles, threaded into his entire being. He laughs often and lets Mitch spoon him in public and tenderly hugs children that want his autograph, but he also hasn't pulled a single check in practice, even against the new guys. His hands shake sometimes on the bench, the motion sharp enough that Mitch can see the twitching even with his gloves on. Mitch would think it was nerves if it weren't for the way Matt always goes sharp as glass after a good hit. 

It should be funny, Mitch thinks as one of Matt's hands ghost down the length of his back, the rough patches on his palm catching against Mitch's skin. He shivers, adjusting himself over Matt's lap in a failed attempt to get more comfortable. His elbows are already a little tender from pressing his weight into the upholstery of the couch, but like hell is he going to move. He had to _work_ for this. He had to prove he _wanted_ it, and, man. He really, _really_ wants this. 

Daylight filters in through the full length windows across the room, making every detail of it stark. It's the middle of the afternoon. Something this elicit should probably be done at night, behind the closed door of a bedroom, not here in Matt's tastefully decorated living room, on full display for anyone that might walk past the back of the house. Mitch shifts again, thinks about Mo or Matts or Naz catching them at this and doesn't know how to feel. Matt scrapes his thumbnail over Mitch's spine. 

"Stay still," Matt says, his voice even and soft around his faint lisp. Mitch likes it. Matt's huge and a little scary sometimes and has literally spit teeth onto the ice and kept playing, but he's also got a lisp and the nails now scratching faint lines over his back are ragged because Matt bites them when he's bored. He's human. It's weird, but comforting. 

" _Do_ something, then," Mitch says. He looks out the windows at the dying trees in the yard, at the fence that seems really far away but also kind of close. The heating isn't on and goosebumps have crept over Mitch's skin, exacerbated by the prickle of Matt's attention on him. He's never been good at sitting still, never been good at being quiet. If Matt's got violence in him so deep it colors his soul, Mitch has a restlessness that builds and builds until he feels like he has to explode or cry and nothing in between. 

"Maybe you'll learn some patience when you're older," Matt says idly. He curves his broad palm over the swell of Mitch's bare ass, testing the fit, still so slow, like they don't have anything else to do ever again. He squeezes once, before his hand moves farther back, stroking down Mitch's thigh. The sound of skin rasping over hair is so, _so_ loud. 

"Can we turn on a TV or something?" Mitch asks. The idea of hearing whatever weird sex noises he's going to make echoing off the walls makes him want to squirm. The living room is huge enough to fit the whole team with their families. It's been tested. The acoustics are great for parties and watching football but-

"Are you already that bored?" Matt asks. He rubs a long, steady line up Mitch's back, just along the outside of his spine, unbunching the muscles that have gone tense, and tucks two fingers into the back of Mitch's chain. He tugs, just a little, and the gold strains against Mitch's adam's apple, not doing anything but reminding him that Matt's got him where he wants him. That's he's in charge. 

"It's too quiet," Mitch says. The plates of his chain drag over his throat as he speaks, rough like stubble, and Mitch has to swallow, which just starts the whole process on a loop. 

For a minute, he thinks Matt's going to keep going in the silence. It's not Mitch's show. That's the whole point. Matt can do whatever he wants, and Mitch will pant after him to take it. Eventually Matt does let go of him and leans over to grab one of the remotes on the side table. Tension floods out of Mitch's shoulders as something acoustic comes over the surround sound, just loud enough that he can't hear himself breathing anymore. 

It's easier to actually get into Matt petting him like a giant cat like this, his sore body slowly giving it up to the attention. He's never denied his love of cuddling, never tried to bro it out with just backslaps and fistbumps. It's always made him feel better- bone deep, like he's regenerating strength, stealing it straight from whoever he manages to pin down. The being naked on someone's lap thing is new, but Matt's steady, calming presence makes it feel more awesome than uncomfortable. 

Mitch gnaws on one of the leather bracelets around his wrist when Matt shifts under him, reaching for something else on the end table. Austin keeps saying he's going to fuck up his teeth chewing on stuff not meant to be chewed on, but Mitch is realistic enough to know that his teeth are probably already destined for terrible, ruinous things anyway. The leather doesn't taste like much of anything, but the sueded side feels good against his tongue, soothing like a binky. 

He knows what's coming. Matt is as solid and predictable as a rock, old enough to have his shit together in a way that seems inconceivable. His routine is worn from experience, changed and perfected over the years. It's not even close to a secret that he was brought in to protect Mitch, to protect Willy. A jolt of ugly jealousy strikes him hard and fast when he thinks about Willy stretched out like this over Matt's lap. He probably wouldn't squirm as much, probably wouldn't need music to focus on the weight and warmth of Matt's hands. It doesn't matter. He's here and Matt's here and Willy isn't. 

"I'm going to stop if you keep drifting off," Matt says softly. He scratches his nails through the short, freshly shaved hair at the nape of Mitch's neck and Mitch shivers. "You've got the attention span of a goldfish."

"Better ass than a goldfish," Mitch mutters, mostly so Matt doesn't think he's fallen asleep or something. It doesn't make any sense at all, but it gets Matt's hand back on his ass, kneading one cheek, pulling him open for just long enough for the chilly air to ghost over his hole. Mitch is abruptly aware of exactly how long he's been hard and how long he's still got to go. 

"You set the bar real high there, Mitchy," Matt says. The weight of his hand disappears and Mitch's heart skips a beat. He bites down harder on the leather, feeling it bend against his teeth. It's always good, but he can't shake the nervousness off. Matt still has his _shoes_ on, for fuck's sake. "Close your eyes."

Mitch does. Without anything to focus on, his skin feels hypersensitive, the hair on his arms standing on end. He can feel Matt's hand hovering over his ass, radiating warmth, and Mitch has to switch to biting his wrist to keep himself from arching up to meet it. He nearly jumps when Matt's other hand drops into his hair and tugs. He gasps and pain flares in his wrist at the release of pressure. 

"Stop that," Matt says. When he releases his hold on Mitch's hair, Mitch slumps forward and nods. "There you go. The doors are locked. Be as loud as you want." The doors _are_ locked, but the windows are cracked, letting in the cold air from outside. The property is big, but sound carries if it's loud enough. 

Mitch groans when the wide flat of Matt's slick thumb rubs over his hole. His cock is so heavy between his thighs, his hips tilted too far up to get any friction off Matt's lap. It twitches up against his stomach as Matt rubs slow, careful circles, barely any pressure at all. Mitch's attention zeros in on it, his whole body buzzing in anticipation. Matt, bless him, has no patience for teasing. 

Mitch bites his wrist again when Matt pushes, pushes, pushes, the tip of his thumb sinking in. It's always weird at first, a little overwhelming. Sweat pricks at Mitch's temples as he tries to relax into it. He can't relax, though. That's the entire problem. He can't relax because his body is so damn full of energy, even when he's run himself ragged on the ice, and when his body is too full speed ahead, his head follows. Matt cups Mitch's ass with his free hand, stroking the skin gently before rearing back and landing a solid slap. Mitch jerks at the sound as much as the sharp spike of pain. Matt uses his distraction to slide his thumb all the way in, his fingers brushing over Mitch's balls. 

" _Fuck_ ," Mitch moans, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. He wants to see the flex of Matt's bicep as he swings, wants to see the way his eyes narrow as he gets into it, but he's not supposed to. Matt lets the weight of his hand fight gently against the clench and release of Mitch's body, rocking the heel of his thumb against the sensitive skin behind Mitch's balls. "Fuck."

When Mitch's body stops fighting it, Matt pulls his thumb back and comes back with two fingers, twisted together like he's swearing an oath. Mitch goes tight again, his teeth clenching hard enough that he _has_ to pull off and whine, high in the back of his throat. Matt's hands are huge, and even though there's so much lube Mitch can feel it trickling down the backs of his thighs, it still feels like way too much. 

"You good, Mitchy?" Matt asks. He pulls Mitch's head up by his hair and Mitch's mouth falls open. 

"Can I open my eyes?" Mitch asks, his voice cracking as Matt lets his hair go. He stays like that, biceps and abs strained to hold himself up. 

"Go ahead," Matt says. Before Mitch can though, he slides his fingers all the way inside with one smooth thrust. Mitch swears a blue streak, his back arching sharply. He still hasn't recovered when Matt hits him, one solid open-handed smack to Mitch's ass that sounds like a crack of lightning. 

Matt spreads his fingers, slow but unrelenting. He doesn't thrust them forward, doesn't give Mitch anything to move back against, just keeps stretching him open wider and wider. Mitch whines, finally opening his eyes and looking over his shoulder. Matt's head is tipped down, the strong line of his jaw highlighted by the sunlight coming in through the window. His tongue slides over his lower lip as he carefully pulls out, and Mitch wants to kiss him so bad his own lips tingle.

"I can see everything like this," Matt says, quiet enough that Mitch has to strain to hear him. The third finger hurts- his hands are _so big_ \- but Mitch pushes back against them, his arms shaking a little. Even over the music, his short, panting breaths sound loud. Wet. Matt presses his fingers down towards his own lap, stretching Mitch wide open even as his hole tries to clench shut around them. It's uncomfortable as much as it makes Mitch's dick throb. 

"Come on," Mitch says. His voice is breathy and high, which is embarrassing, but Matt's literally knuckles deep in him. Nothing should be embarrassing right now. 

"Want to count?" Matt asks. He hasn't looked away from Mitch's ass, hasn't moved at all. Mitch wants to drop down, wants to rut against Matt's lap, see if he's as hard as Mitch is, but that isn't part of the game. Mitch is impatient and loud and talks too much, but he's good at following rules if they're laid out for him. 

"No," Mitch says. He doesn't want to think about anything at all. 

Matt hits him then, a strong smack to the meat of Mitch's thigh, another on the crest of his ass. Mitch flinches, which makes Matt's fingers drag inside of him, just shy of his prostate. And the best thing about Matt- the best, the worst, the _best_ \- is that once he starts going, he doesn't stop. Each slap is just as hard as the last, all of that strength coming down in controlled waves that send licks of fire all the way up Mitch's spine. 

"You're so tight," Matt murmurs as he pinches the spot where ass meets thigh, hard enough that Mitch has to bite off a shout. He fucks his fingers in fast, still pulling down even though Mitch is fighting every second of it. 

It's an overload of sensation. Mitch tries to focus on just one thing, but Matt won't let him. A particularly sharp slap to the inside of his thigh sends Mitch crashing forward, his face hitting the couch, his open mouth biting down on the cushion to keep from screaming. Everything inside him is vibrating, pain spreading from his ass out to his thighs, into his back. When he tries to push himself up again, his arms feel too wobbly and weak to lift his weight. 

It's a better angle for Matt. He hooks his fingers in Mitch's hole, finally pressing down hard on Mitch's prostate. That hurts in a different way, sparks pain in Mitch's gut so sharp it turns into full blown pleasure. He thinks his cock is leaking onto Matt's sweats, staining them with proof of this, but he can't _focus_ and the white walls of the room are swimming because Mitch is crying, full blown sobs that echo back like a loop.

"You're good, Mitchy," Matt says. He grabs a handful of cheek and _squeezes_ , the rough press of his palm like sandpaper over Mitch's too sensitive skin. He twists his fingers and Mitch pounds his fist against the couch, his knuckles scraping too hard against the upholstery. "Few more."

The next three hits are brutal, the sounds like gunshots, Matt's full strength behind them. Mitch barely feels the next two. His body has finally snapped over, his head moving toward that white space where words and sounds and _Mitch_ stops existing. He thinks he says something- maybe Matt's name, maybe a prayer, maybe nothing at all- but he can't be sure. Everything has gone fuzzy. 

He comes, almost like an afterthought, when Matt tugs on his balls. His stomach tightens and he feels wetness spreading out under him, feels every curve and rough spot of Matt's fingers as he squeezes tight around them. He thinks he's shaking, but it doesn't matter. Matt will take care of him. He whines when Matt slowly pulls out, weakly trying to chase after him. 

"You should fuck me," Mitch says, muffled into the couch cushion. He can feel Matt's cock under his stomach, hard enough that it's uncomfortable. It'll hurt like hell, but Matt is so good to him, and Mitch wants to be just as good, if not better. Plus, it's not like the pain is a hardship. 

"No," Matt says. It's gentle, but it still stings. 

"I can take it," Mitch replies. It sounds a little slurred, even to him, but his point still stands. He feels empty and sore, and all he wants is for Matt to fuck him blind. 

"Come here," Matt says. He hauls Mitch off his lap and gently deposits him on the floor. It's an impressive show of strength, and if Mitch could even think about getting hard again anytime soon, he'd be right there. 

Matt shoves his sweats down, his hard cock bouncing against his stomach. He's thick and curved just a little to the right, the head fat and red. When Matt gently guides Mitch's head down toward it, Mitch goes readily. It's not as good as fucking, but if it's what Matt wants, Mitch is more than willing to give it to him. Mitch mouths at the shiny tip, eyes slitted open so he can at least sort of see Matt watching him. Matt's eyes are so blue and Mitch gets stuck looking at them, his mouth falling open enough that Matt can take advantage, carefully feeding his cock in until it's resting heavy and hot on Mitch's tongue. 

"Just suck," Matt says, his voice threaded with tension. "Just like that, Mitchy."

He jerks his shaft with tight, quick strokes, his knuckles brushing under Mitch's chin on every upstroke. Mitch sucks messily at what he's been given, pressing his tongue against the slit to chase the salt of his precome. He watches Matt's jaw tense, watches the tendons in Matt's neck tighten as he throws his head back. He gives one last hard suck and Matt comes in his mouth in thick spurts. It tastes gross, always has, but Mitch swallows anyway. 

For a long moment, they stay there in silence, Mitch's head resting on the hard pillow of Matt's thigh, Matt's fingers carefully carding through Mitch's hair. Eventually, the pain in Mitch's ass catches up to him and he shifts on his knees. He needs to get up, but he doesn't want to. He likes it here in the safe, warm space between Matt's thighs. Matt tugs his hair once before gently pushing him away. 

"Up," Matt says. He pulls his sweats back up and stands. "We're taking a nap." He reaches for the remote and turns off the music. The silence that follows is almost welcome. Mitch doesn't need the noise right now. 

"I call big spoon," Mitch mutters as Matt half drags him upstairs. 

It's a long, slow process with frequent stops. When they finally reach the landing, Mitch is sweating, his legs shaking. Matt shushes him and gently helps him into the bed, which is way softer than Mitch's at home, but still too much for his tender ass to take full on. Mitch squirms and complains through Matt cleaning him off with baby wipes. He's exhausted and he wants to cuddle and also eat his entire body weight in M&M's. Eventually, Matt crawls into bed with him, gamely letting Mitch curl up against his back, arms and legs wrapped tight around him. 

"You know," Matt says, reaching back to tug lightly at Mitch's hair. "You don't have to wait until you're going to pop to ask for this." Mitch presses his face into the sweet curve of Matt's thick shoulder, his nose going flat. Matt's hand is still in his hair, more a reminder than anything else. "Sleep it off, Mitchy."

When Mitch closes his eyes, he feels still.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on [tumblr ](http://notyourlovesong.tumblr.com)!


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